


Overdrive

by EllaStorm



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dubcon Due To Mind Control, Ficlet, M/M, Sex Pollen, Succubi & Incubi, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaStorm/pseuds/EllaStorm
Summary: Modern AU. Jaskier is cornered by an incubus in an alley behind a strip club. The event has interesting aftereffects.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 102





	Overdrive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SandraMorningstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandraMorningstar/gifts).



> This story was created in a writing challenge I undertook with my wonderful friend @SandraMorningstar. We gave ourselves one hour each to write ANYTHING we wanted. And since you can’t really go wrong with some Sex Pollen/Fuck Or Die Geraskier, that’s what this became. (Speaks volumes about the things at the top of my mind…)
> 
> Apart from some minor corrections of terrible mistakes in grammar and orthography that originally occurred due to the time restraint on the whole thing, this ficlet remains unchanged from the result of the aforementioned challenge.

Jaskier had no idea how he’d gotten here.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had a very good idea how he’d gotten _here_ to Shirley, Arkansas: By riding shotgun in a clunky, rusty Ford Mustang from the last century that was being driven by one of the most infamous witchers in the entire country. He also knew perfectly well _why_ he had come here – reports of male bodies in this area had surfaced, their corpses dried up like wanderers in the desert, in _November,_ which made the whole thing most suspicious to say the least. Geralt had been hired by local police, inspected one of the corpses, murmured something about a succubus and they’d been on their merry way.

What Jaskier had trouble remembering, however, was how he had gotten _here_ specifically _,_ pressed against a brick wall in some back alley, a beautiful man plastered to his front, his hands tangled in Jaskier’s hair, his mouth kissing down Jaskier’s neck as Jaskier was going slowly out of his mind with lust. His brain told him that he really _should_ remember _something_ , but it was difficult, very very difficult, as teeth grazed up the tendon at the side of his neck and a slender hand moved down over his side, towards more southern parts of his body that were already quite affected by the proceedings. There was something Jaskier was meant to _do,_ something important, something about the job, about the monster he and Geralt had been looking for. Hadn’t he been inside a strip club just a few minutes ago? In search for a girl or-

“Mmmmh,” the man made at Jaskier’s throat, and Jaskier lost his train of thought. “I could just eat you alive,” the man added, and despite the haze of desire surrounding Jaskier’s brain, something about that sentence bothered him. In a weak attempt to disrupt their make-out session and ask some questions – questions whose answers he found to be more and more important by the second – he pushed at the man’s shoulders, but all that did was make him drop elegantly down to his knees at Jaskier’s feet, Jaskier’s fingers still curled in his dark brown hair, a pair of bright eyes looking up at him with a devilishly erotic expression as the man started opening buttons on Jaskier’s jeans.

“Oh…Oh God, yes,” Jaskier said, and whatever he had been meaning to ask, it couldn’t be as important as this. Honestly, if Jaskier were to die here and now-

“Paws off,” a gruff, familiar voice said in a tone that tolerated absolutely no dissent.

The fingers disappeared from the buttons of Jaskier’s trousers – a loss that prompted him to groan in disappointment, and then he heard a hiss and a clank of silver on…something else.

The ugliness of the noise lifted the haze around his consciousness, brought reality slamming back to him with brutal force and he opened his eyes to see a silver knife slashing through darkness in a dingy, smelly, damp alleyway, half-illuminated by lamplights.

Oh God.

_Oh God._

They’d planned a stake-out, Geralt in one nightclub, Jaskier in the other, asking patrons for a female stripper who might secretly be a succubus and responsible for the five dead men that had shown up around town over the past few weeks – a boring job which was, unlike most of the usual witchering, something Jaskier could actually be helpful with. Jaskier remembered all too clearly now how he’d stood at the bar when a stranger had approached him – a quite good looking one – and asked him for a drink. After that his memory had a few holes, but apparently, he’d somehow ended up here; and the man, whoever he was, had been-

A nasty, squelching sound rang through the alleyway, followed by a loud _thump_ , and Jaskier cringed. Only a moment later he was confronted by familiar yellow eyes and a pair of strong, warm hands at his shoulders.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said. He sounded concerned.

“What…I…fuck,” Jaskier managed, and that seemed to serve as enough proof to Geralt that he hadn’t sustained any life-threatening injuries. He let go of Jaskier and gave a disapproving sound.

“It was an incubus. Not a succubus.”

“A…what now?”

“Male demon. Counterpart of the female succubus. Literally sucks your life out through your dick. Very, very rare. Should’ve at least thought of it, though.”

A shiver ran down Jaskier’s spine when he realised, truly, how _close_ this call had been.

“Shit.”

The expression on Geralt’s face was one that Jaskier had hardly – if ever – seen on him. It looked like…guilt. A rush of warmth went through Jaskier’s body and his hand found Geralt’s shoulder through the thick material of his leather jacket.

“I was stupid enough to go with him, Geralt. Thanks for saving my ass.”

“He enthralled you. Wasn’t like you had a choice. And also…” Geralt hesitated. Something else Jaskier rarely saw him do. “We might have another problem,” the witcher finally finished his sentence.

“What do you mean?”

“One of the ugly effects of incubi-enthralments is their control over your physiology. They not only make you psychologically crave sex with them – they force your body into overdrive.”

With a sudden pang of shock Jaskier realised what Geralt meant. He was still painfully, awkwardly hard, straining against his jeans, and sweat was drenching his shirt.

“Oh, fuck. _Fuck._ How do I….?” His hand was already halfway down to his dick, craving to take some of the pressure off, that seemed painfully overwhelming to him all of a sudden.

Geralt shook his head. “That won’t work. I’m very, very sorry, Jaskier,” he added in a grave tone of voice, and for a moment Jaskier thought the next sentence was going to be _You’re going to die,_ but instead Geralt simply stepped closer to him, carrying the warm, familiar scent of whiskey, leather and motor oil with him as he pushed Jaskier against the wall, batted his fingers away from his fly and took him in hand.

Jaskier’s head lolled back against the bricks, aching, wonderful relief flooding his body, as Geralt’s calloused hand started working him in sure, measured strokes.

“ _Shit_ ,” he said, eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt repeated, his voice grim.

Jaskier opened his eyes again to look at him, because amidst the overpowering relief he only now realised that Geralt still felt _guilty_ about this, an emotion that was very much mirrored in his expression.

Without further ado he gripped the hair at the nape of the witcher’s neck and pulled him in to press a hungry kiss to his mouth. Geralt let him, although there was obvious surprise on his face when Jaskier let go for a moment.

“Don’t _apologise,_ for fuck’s sake. I’m…this is…just – keep kissing me, alright?”

Something like a moan fell from Geralt’s lips, and his mouth crashed into Jaskier’s like waves into a shore.


End file.
